


You're The Boss

by littlejedi



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Smut, hypothetical proposal, older mitjo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:17:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12992712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlejedi/pseuds/littlejedi
Summary: Mitch was putty for Jonas. Absolutely helpless against him. Jell-o. Softer than a jar of marshmallow fluff.And Jonas? Jonas was the boss. Poor kid probably didn't even realize it.





	You're The Boss

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted anything this short before, but I've been inspired by the song "Boss" by Bear Hands for so long that it eventually needed to happen! Any mistakes are mine, let me know if you see them!

What is he going to say? Every time he’s tried to rehearse something he ends up getting sidetracked, going into some other 15-minute tangent, straying far away from his intended subject.

He huffs. Why hasn’t he been able to do this? He has a million and one reasons. Why can’t he just muster up the courage, stand with his head high and drop to one knee, open that box and tell Jonas....

Fuck.

Tell Jonas what? Everything? They’d be there for days. There isn’t anything he can think of that says all that he wants. He’s had time. 3 weeks to the day since he went to that little jeweler’s shop on Main and picked up the ring. Made his final payment in all cash, too, while Sidney had looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow. She probably thought it was drug money or something.

Which it was. But it was hard-earned and well spent drug money.

So he’s had the time to think of what to say. And he has plenty to say. And he knows how he wants to say it, knows how he wants it to come out, but he can’t really say it.

Because fearless Mitchell Mueller, the very same weed-dealing, Nazi-punching, switchblade-wielding Mitch Mueller is scared absolutely shitless by the prospect of asking his boyfriend of 5 years to marry him. He’s been so reflective lately, something Jonas has without a doubt picked up on, always giving him that sly little smile when Mitch rolls over and nuzzles into his curls while he starts for the umpteenth time that day, “Hey, remember that time we-?”

Jonas does remember whatever it is Mitch is talking about at that time, always, of course he does because he’s the most mind-blowingly wonderful human ever created. And Mitch knows he so does not deserve him, and never could in any way whatsoever, but somehow he still has him.

Wants to keep having him. Forever.

That’s not exactly right though; that’s not truly the reason Mitch is pacing their small kitchen with a dinner as nice as his cooking skills would allow him to make simmering on the stovetop. That isn’t _really_ why Mitch has been toiling with what to say. When he first started to think, he’d begun with something like _‘Please be mine forever’_ which is stupid and shitty because Jonas makes it clear every day that he intends to spend an eternity with Mitch. It didn’t feel right, either, because of what he actually wants to say. What would actually probably come out if he’d mustered up the courage and tried.

_‘Let me be yours forever.’_

He should be over the way that sends a slow chill down his arms. After this many years with Jonas he knows how to be vulnerable and open, but that doesn’t mean he particularly likes it.

Wasn’t that exactly why he’d started picking on Jonas in the first place? Someone had finally tried to get him to be truthful and optimistic and Mitch hadn’t trusted it for a second. In his head, so fragile and already so filled with so many fucked-up thoughts ingrained from years of suffering, hadn’t his fear to let himself belong to somebody ruined any chance at even friendship with Jonas?

Liking someone, the uncontrollable fluttering stomach, impossibly sweaty palms, inevitable shaking voice all meant change. Jonas and his strange, unfamiliar ability to unconsciously influence every single thing Mitch did meant he was the boss. Falling for him meant a loss of control.

And Mitch Mueller was _always_ in control.

Somewhere in his mind he had turned that thumping in chest into a searing, an anger only ignited further by the way Jonas made him feel. He remained trapped there in that painful cycle of resistance and longing until he moved away, only to have it devour him again when he came back.

But it was different, too. The longing which had been so unfamiliar had grown accompanied by lust and infatuation as he got older. That toxic combination of that lust and ignorance and immaturity had produced another bully personality in Mitch, one reserved entirely for Jonas. He’d tease, and threaten, but now he’d flirt. Leering smiles or a stray filthy comment. Invading Jonas’ space. All that bullshit, that immature and ridiculous bullshit that looking back upon now makes him squirm. Combined with all his other torturous behavior and intimidation, Jonas must have felt like fucking dirt.

Mitch can’t help but cringe and grind his teeth as he thinks about the fear that used to fill Jonas’ eyes, the way the warm glow of his skin would sallow when Mitch came around. He can stare at Jonas’ back for hours on the nights his awful sleep conditions come rushing back for one reason or another, eyes tracing every curve and bump as he wonders how the hell a person as beautiful and incredible as Jonas could forgive a person like him.

Even then, though, Jonas was in charge. Mitch would have done anything for him. Jonas ruled his thoughts and influenced his actions without ever even knowing it. Jonas was the boss. Even when he probably felt so helpless from Mitch’s wrath, he still had all the control.

Mitch was putty for Jonas. Absolutely helpless against him. Jell-o. Softer than a jar of marshmallow fluff. Mitch wonders when Jonas started to realize this.

It may have all happened that night- when he and Jonas spent that evening in the ocean- the night where he can only barely recall the rain, and the car, and the fight but can remember each finite detail of that moment.

The moment Jonas cracked his teary eyes open, the feeling of his searing hot face under Mitch’s fingers, the way he had literally stolen Mitch’s breath when he inhaled sharply as their open mouths met. And every kiss after that, every single one no matter when it happened or what it was for, had anchored him to Jonas. Mitch’d steal the moon for him. He’d have found a way to stop the earth from rotating if Joey wanted it to.

Hadn’t he always known? Of course. Hadn’t he always been willing to do whatever Jonas asked, answer Jonas’ every request? Duh.

But finally, Jonas had let him. Let him sneak in and cradle him close on the rough nights. Let him run his fingers over his soft cheeks on the good ones. Let him beneath the covers free from the boundaries of anything but their boxers on the _really_ good nights. And it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t just Jonas wrapped up shivering in Mitch’s manly, buff arms.

It could go the other way too. Lots of nights, Mitch had spent hours with his head pressed into Jonas’ neck as the smaller boy ran his fingers through his hair and kissed at the worried creases on his forehead. He had remained there with eyes wide, body still aside from the occasional shudder, not able to sleep for fear of the night terrors coming back.

Those were just the nights he depended on Jonas- physically, mentally, emotionally. Those weren’t the nights he belonged to Jonas. He belonged to Jonas every night, every day, and wanted to spend his every hour enjoying it.

How had he done it? Going from having nothing- _no one_ \- to having everything? Having someone? Someone to say the words he needed to hear and laugh with him and get frustrated with him like Jonas could. Someone who would text him ‘good night’ and ‘good morning’ without ever having a clue what it meant to him. Someone who told him ‘I love you’ and meant it. Showed it.

For a while he didn’t feel like himself. He felt much better than he ever had, of course, but still felt like he’d transformed into another version of himself. It was and always had been about control with him, especially then, coming away from the hard drugs and the life he lived. If you weren’t in control, you didn’t make it.

It was almost like his cultured, instinctive fear of giving in was fighting with the finally realized potential to do anything Jonas pleased. It had all been too complex for too long, wanting something but not _wanting_ to want it, and he was done with that fear ruling his life. So he finally let Jonas be the boss... at least most of the time. He had always held a card up his sleeve, just one, where he could have some of that needed control.

Sex.

Mitch knew sex. He knew he was good at sex. He knew everything he could’ve known about having sex. And Jonas, sweet virginal Jonas who bumped their noses together when they kissed, did not. Or at least he didn’t for a short time before Mitch started teaching him.

It gave Mitch that high, the pulsing feeling of his heart in his chest, when Jonas had cried those overwhelmed tears for him and spilled into his hand. He felt like a king, a master, an absolute pro when he’d stare up at Jonas from his spot on his knees, mouth full of Jonas’ shaft and thumbs stroking over his thighs. Because it was that moment when their eyes would meet that Joey would throw his head back and cry out and Mitch was in control for those few incredible seconds. Jonas belonged to Mitch in that moment and God if it wasn’t the most unbelievable feeling.

At least until their first time.

Mitch groans beneath his breath, smirking fondly as he goes a bit red in the face. He places the velvet box on the dirty Formica counter and spins it, leaning on his elbows and watching it wobble. You’d think after all these years laughing about it he’d stop feeling that little twinge of embarrassment, but there it is, still present in his stomach.

It was so hot that summer afternoon, stifling and muggy in the trailer that Jonas inexplicably didn’t want to leave. Mitch had laid on his back, eyes closed as his barely-working fan circulated humid air around his room. He remembers how hot his thighs felt in his jeans, because Mitch Mueller wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of shorts, before Jonas had placed his hand against Mitch’s stomach. He’d leaned down, half his curls sticking to his temples and the others flopping hanging around his head as he pressed his lips softly against Mitch’s.

“I wanna stay in,” Jonas had said in that shy voice Mitch knew so well, one that was probably dying to say _‘Hey, gimme some dick now’_ but Jonas was either far too modest or shy to admit it.

Mitch had grinned like a predator, brought his hand to the back of Jonas’ head, and pulled him down for another kiss. It went how it always did, first their shirts and then their pants, leaving them to awkwardly dry-hump and grind in their boxers. Their hot breath only made the room stuffier, Jonas’ moans and cries heating the space around them.

Mitch was in control, like always, eliciting those little whines and whimpers with every expert touch or bite. He had Jonas hot, a sweating, blubbering mess when he finally got around to pulling at the hem of Jonas’ briefs before a small freckled hand darted to his chest, pushing but slipping away from the combined slickness of their skin.

“I want to,” Jonas had breathed with so much meaning, almost like he thought Mitch would know what he was talking about because he always had so much faith in him. But Mitch had just blinked as his hand pushed Jonas’ underwear down, prompted by the wiggling of Jonas’ hips. Jonas had gone pink and repeated, “I want to, Mitch. I think I’m ready to... y’know. Do it.”

What a sweet, awkward moment- so long before Jonas would look at Mitch from across their couch, half into a bowl of frosted flakes, and mumble around a mouthful of cereal, _‘You should come fuck me.’_

So, so long before that because even Mitch himself had gone red and silent at the admission, his heart competing for what little bloodflow could be redirected from his dick.

He can see himself now, down on one knee and fully rambling, saying something like _‘And God Joey I almost jizzed in my goddamn pants the second ya said it.’_ Jonas would laugh, or scoff with a smile, or maybe even shake his head in disbelief.

 _‘I can’t believe it,’_ Jonas would laugh, Mitch can see him giggling now, _‘you just used to the word ‘jizz’ in your proposal.’_

What an idiot. Jonas seriously deserves better than Mitch proposing to him by talking about cum. Gotta work on that. But it’s such a vivid memory, special and awkward and pivotal in their relationship.

He had barely managed to get the words out, he remembers feeling like filth when he dropped his voice low and asked, “You want me to fuck you?”

Jonas had nodded, gnawing on his lower lip and lifting his hips towards Mitch’s almost unconsciously. Mitch can’t even bear to think about the lube, half-spilled on his yellowing sheets, everywhere but where it needed to be. Or about his fumbling with the condom, fingers slick and clumsy when he tried to tear the foil open as he shook. Even with every nerve in his body on high alert, skirting somewhere along the edge of panic, he was in control.

Jonas moaned when Mitch touched him. Jonas responded when Mitch asked him if it felt good. He nodded when Mitch had asked if he felt ready.

Everything Mitch knew was finally useful, he had waited for the day he could wrap his thin fingers around Jonas’ ankles and press his knees up towards his ears. He had every filthy fantasy to play out, tugging at Jonas’ hair, driving into him like an animal while they shook the walls of the trailer. He’d rewritten these scenarios in his head again and again, skin burning with desire until Jonas pressed both hands against his shoulders and blurted out a desperate “Wait!” as he got up on his knees to position himself.

He’d pulled back so fast Jonas barely registered it, took his hands away in the fear that was what was hurting him, a mess of anxiety for the short few seconds that he stared down at Jonas.

“You’ll... you’ll be gentle, right?”

And that, right there, was the moment that Mitch knew he’d never be in control again and he couldn’t give less of a shit about it.

Every filthy, wild fantasy he’d relied on to make Jonas his was gone in that moment, everything out the window aside from his ability to mumble out a strangled “Of course” which was filled with so much love and adoration that it hurt to say. And Jonas? Jonas was the boss. Poor kid didn’t even know what he’d done.

And they kissed, and he moved, and he was inside Jonas for the very first time and holy mother of fucking hell was it beyond anything he’d ever imagined, far too amazing for words.

Way, way too amazing.

Jonas had lasted about 2 minutes. Mitch lasted maybe 30 seconds longer than that. They were left panting, Jonas with his mouth still biting against Mitch’s shoulder and Mitch with his forehead pressed into the pillow next to Jonas’ freckled cheek. His stomach turned with so much embarrassment and shame, because sex was all he had to keep sure that he hadn’t lost all control of himself.

Lasting less than 4 minutes in bed was a serious kick in what little self-confidence he had managed to foster. That hot shame had only lasted a fraction of a second before Jonas was giggling breathlessly and concealing a smile against his skin; suddenly they were both laughing through their kisses and lasting less than 4 minutes somehow didn’t matter as much. It also didn’t matter that he had given in, given up the last part of himself.

From that moment, like always, like every other part of their life, Jonas was the boss. He didn’t know it then, but now? Please. Jonas took advantage of it every single day. He knew all the right things to get what he wanted.

He knew if he wanted coffee he’d look up at Mitch through his eyelashes and bat them. The pot would practically brew itself. Just the call of his name and Mitch would come running, so Jonas used that frequently, too. With the brush of his fingertips against fading hickeys and love bites  he had Mitch on his knees. A well-timed pout, a brilliant smile, a certain type of sigh, everything had its own meaning to them. For Jonas, a way to be pampered. For Mitch, a command.

He hears the keys make their familiar click in the door and he swallows, bolting upright. Things are floating, shit he’s so obvious, and he shoves the velvet box into his back pocket as he hears Jonas’ shoes thump down at the door. His pulse is racing as Jonas pads down the hallway. Everything goes still and quiet for a second as Jonas walks into the doorway, unbuttoning the top fastens of his shirt and rolling his head from side to side.

“Welcome home, baby,” Mitch coos smoothly, trying to ease the shudder in his voice.

“Ugh. Thank _God_ I’m finally home. It’s been such a long day,” he makes his way quickly over to Mitch, running his palms flat over his boyfriend’s abdomen and up his shoulders. He gives a quick squeeze and rises to his tiptoes, sighing as Mitch kisses him.

Wait, that had some tongue.

And teeth, too, he realizes as Jonas nibbles down on his lower lip and whines softly. He’s already hardening, pressing against Mitch’s thigh as his fingers sink into Mitch’s muscular shoulders. He pulls away and slides his hands down to rest against Mitch’s lower back, causing the taller man’s heart to jump as Jonas’ hands get dangerously close to his back pocket.

“You’re ‘bout to have a long night too if ya keep that shit up,” Mitch growls and Jonas hums, that sultry look smoothing over his face as he rests his chin against Mitch’s chest.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” and this is how he gets Mitch, this is why Mitch has no control because how could you? How could you think of anything but throwing away every inhibition to please him?

“You know where the bedroom is. Guess we could shower, too... bed first, shower second... get ya nice and cleaned up and ready to go again,” Mitch’s voice might be teasing but he’s beyond serious, willing to give himself entirely to make any one of Jonas’ desires a reality.

“I don’t think so,” Jonas says, his half-lidded hazel eyes glowing in the soft golden light from the candles on the table, “It’s so romantic in here....” he trails off, knowing he doesn’t need to finish.

He knows full well he’s in charge as he smiles softly, cocking his head to the side and sliding his hands a little lower.

In a swift movement, Mitch spins him against the counter while he shoves his hand into his pocket, tearing the box out and tossing it behind their rarely-used toaster oven in a single stealthy movement. Jonas is oblivious, grinning as he finally presses his hands against the top of Mitch’s ass and pulls him forward, their bodies coming together. The friction and heat is just as good as ever, and Mitch can’t help but to lean down and catch Jonas in a nearly rabid kiss.

“On the counter?” he asks gruffly.

“Kitchen table.” Jonas breathes, and Mitch’s heart thumps. He doesn’t need to say anything more; those words tell Mitch everything he needs to know about what Jonas wants. Still, he aches to hear more, loves the way it makes his skin prick up. He follows Jonas to the table, watching as Jonas lays on his stomach and crosses his arms beneath his head, groaning beneath his breath as Jonas arches his back just slightly.

He leans down, his body against Jonas with no room for even air to pass through, softly beginning to roll his hips just slightly and breathing right into his ear.

“How ‘bout a quickie for now?” Mitch tries, staring at the corner of the ring box behind the toaster

“Please, no... take your time,” Jonas begs, pushing back against him with a little pout.

Mitch doesn’t stand a chance. So he just grins, pushing Jonas’ curls away to nibble at the shell of his ear as chuckles.

“Whatever you want, Spots. You’re the boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING :)))


End file.
